


May We Grow And Blossom As One

by Toomanytears



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Courting Rituals, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Meddling, News Media, Paparazzi, Prince Harry Styles, Prince Louis Tomlinson, Princes & Princesses, Romance, Slow Burn, The Slow Burn Is Painfully Slow, you know me by now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2020-08-10 19:47:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20140996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toomanytears/pseuds/Toomanytears
Summary: Royal engagement is tedious enough without familial expectations, rivalry, ancient laws and subversive revelations to further complicate matters."A rose's rarest essence lives in the thorn."Or / A royal AU in which Louis seeks a sense of belonging and Harry refuses to let himself commit to anything or anyone except his duties to his people.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to all you wonderful people and welcome! Below is a family tree to refer to in case things get a little confusing. I don't feel comfortable using Louis' family as characters considering the tragedies they have suffered - I think it would be insulting to write about Johanna and Fizzy as if they were real characters so I've invented an entirely new British royal family. Louis is about twenty in this fic, with two young sisters (Alice is five and Maggie is three) so his nanny, Lucy-Mae is often bustling around in the background, officially there to mind Alice and Maggie but usually scolding Louis! Anyway, enough rambling from me - enjoy!

British Royal Family Tree

“You can’t wear Crocs to church, Louis. Go and change into something more appropriate, please. And fix your hair—you look like you just rolled out of bed.”

Louis indulged himself in a smile; his nanny always seemed to become very nervous when it came to royal outings and he knew precisely how to wind her up. “But Crocs look so much better with this lovely ensemble the designers chose for me, Lucy-Mae,” he insisted, pointing towards to pressed button-up shirt and corduroy trousers. “I really think they add a nice personal touch.”

“You very well know that they do nothing more than irritate me,” Lucy-Mae said, wielding a hairbrush and attempting to flatten Louis’ hair.

“Fine,” he sighed. “But the other shoes pinch my toes.”

“You’re fourth in line for the throne, Louis. I think you can deal with pinched toes for three hours,” she said sternly, adding copious amounts of hair gel before pulling him at arms’ length to admire her work. “Besides, I’ve much more pressing matters to worry about; your sister, Messy Maggie, keeps drooling all over the front of her dress. And the forecast has threatened rain which will interfere with the entire itinerary for today. The chefs have been planning the barbecue for _weeks_.”

Louis closed his eyes and sighed contently at the thought of a delicious barbecue.

“But,” Lucy-Mae added loudly, “if you don’t act your age and set an example for the others then I doubt the chefs will be too willing to give you anything more than a burned sausage and a dollop of mustard. You know they hate your antics as much as I do; you always upstage their buffets at all of the royal functions and, quite frankly, I can’t blame them for being tired of it.”

“Come on, Lucy-Mae,” Louis said with a broad grin. “Why are you so uptight? There’s at least one of these church-charity galas every month and they’re always a complete bore.”

She pursed her lips. “To a twenty year old, perhaps, but not to all of your guests and relatives. They have a tremendous time, no thanks to you. They are your guests, Louis, not mine, and I expect you to treat them as such.”

Louis heaved a sigh. “I would if they let their hair down for five minutes and quit the pretence that they spend their days reciting poetry and counting their inherited fortunes. It gets so boring pretending to be interested these days. And they all seem to think that the new PM is God’s greatest gift since crumpets and tea.”

Lucy-Mae raised her eyebrows but didn’t admonish him any further. “Well, just promise me you won’t roll your eyes whenever anyone refers to you by your title.”

“I’m not making promises I can’t keep.”

“I mean it!” she said earnestly, though Louis spotted a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I know you consider it unnecessary and you plan to be a liberal, let-everyone-have-a-slice-of-the-cake king in the future, but right now it’s a very important staple of British culture and politics.”

Louis nodded at this. Though he despised being referred to as ‘Prince Louis’, he had to admit that it was considered impolite to contradict anyone who placed value (however misguided) on his title. 

“Are you ready, then?” she asked, eyeing him up and down carefully before punctiliously fixing the collar of his shirt.

“As I’ll ever be,” he sighed.

*

The beginning of the afternoon event took place, indeed, at the church—St George's Chapel. It was decorated magnificently for the occasion and the flowers along the pews, each decorated with elaborate ribbons, were in full bloom. The service itself was far more enjoyable (or rather tolerable) than he had expected, due in no small part to the sheer size of the Queen’s custard coloured hat. It had a number of embroidered animals along the rim in what looked like extremely compromising positions that Louis amused himself admiring.

“Thoughts on Granny’s hat?” he muttered quietly to his cousin Evangeline, who was three months his senior and one of the few people in his family who wasn’t uptight or obsessed with maintaining their royal, untouchable façade.

“Looks like woodland creatures making obscene love in the middle of the forest,” she muttered, scratching her nose to hide the movement of her lips.

Louis hummed quietly. “Thoughts on sex in the middle of a forest?”

“The paparazzi would certainly have a field day,” she muttered insouciantly. “’The Royal Family sweetheart gone rogue? Read all about her sexual misdemeanours and voyeurism below’.”

“I think I would have a grand old time having sex in the middle of a forest,” Louis mused.

“Well of course you would,” Evangeline said, smirking. "It sounds exactly like the kind of havoc you'd wreck just for a bit of attention."

“_Be quiet_,” Albert, Evangeline’s brother, hissed. “You’ll cause a scene as usual and get us all in trouble.”

“Stop eavesdropping, Al,” she muttered.

“What do you think, Al?” Louis asked. “Rolling around the forest path with your lover?”

Albert scrunched his nose in distaste. “Sounds unnecessarily messy. And besides, you know very well that I don't have a lover, Louis.”

“Would you three quieten down, please,” Lucy-Mae whispered sharply.

“Whatever do you mean?” Louis asked, plastering an expression of affronted astonishment. “Us, disturbing a very important church service? That sounds extremely out of character.”

“I will not rise to your bait, Louis,” she said, pressing her lips in a thin line.

Louis smiled at her, full and beatific. She shook her head, expression toeing the line between annoyed and faintly amused.

“So who would you take to the forest to have sex with, then?” Evangeline said over a barely concealed grin,

Louis sighed. “My hand, I suppose.”

Evangeline sniggered, which she artfully masked as a coughing fit, just as everyone began to stand for a communal prayer.

“You know there haven’t exactly been many opportunities, Evangeline,” he said defensively.

“I know,” she said with a small pout. “The day the press find out about your sexual preference will be the day England finally gets a much needed wake-up call.”

Louis didn’t respond; the thought of coming out publicly was far too daunting to process and anytime the topic was raised by the four people who knew—his father, his nanny and two cousins—he feigned deafness or changed the topic. They seemed to think he was quite unperturbed by the fact that nobody else was privy to this piece of information and he was happy to keep them blissfully unaware of the fact that he truly did want to come out, but was simply too frightened of the consequences. “Well, do you enjoy sex, then?” he asked Evangeline instead.

She considered this for a moment, tilting her head to the side and narrowing her eyes in the distance. “I tend to just close my eyes and think of England, most of the time.”

“Evangeline,” Albert chastised, clearly scandalised. “Be quiet or I’ll be forced to lock you in the Tower of London.”

“As if you have the authority,” Evangeline scoffed.

“Just you wait,” he muttered.

“Until what? Dad kicks the bucket?”

Even Albert cracked a smile at this, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

The service ended soon afterwards and they were able to resume their conversation at the normal decibel level, without interruption. The church rang with a chorus of discussion and laughter, the faint _click_ of cameras heard only if Louis strained his ears.

“…simply marvellous, Henry,” Louis heard his grandmother say to his father. “I’m sure Agnes would have loved it too.”

Louis dropped his head on impulse and felt a familiar warmth spread in his chest. His mother definitely would have loved the service, though she no doubt would have been amused by Louis’ sheer disinterest in it nonetheless. Though not particularly religious, his mother had loved the reverence that followed attending church and she had once confessed to him that the connection of royal existence to religion gave her a strangely unified understanding of her place in the world. Louis remembered that day vividly and, thinking of his mother now, he was glad that he could recognise her in everyday things, even when he took them for granted. It had been two years and her presence still weaved its way through everything in his life.

“Yes, she really loved coming here,” his father said quietly. “I remember she insisted on visiting every day in the lead up to our wedding. It was exhausting trying to avoid the cameras.”

“Don’t remind me,” his grandmother said, tittering. “She was a nightmare during those few weeks. So particular about everything and she wanted to get involved in every aspect of the affair, from the colour of the handkerchiefs to the hymns sung. She simply refused to leave things to the experts.”

Her father let out a soft chuckle. “She did like adding a personal touch to everything she did.”

Louis smiled and allowed himself to be pulled into a conversation with a distant relative whose name he couldn’t remember but whom he knew had an affinity for scotch, which he kept in a poorly-concealed flask in the breast pocket of his suit. Louis knew this because, if he asked nicely, the man always gave Louis a surreptitious swig if the royal events ever became too tedious (which was always).

*

The weather, to everyone’s pleasant surprise, remained dry. Though the wind bit their cheeks and the overcast sky threatened downpour, their barbeque was uninterrupted by the weather. The grounds of Windsor Castle were adorned with elegant fountains and shrubbery, along with a rose garden that had been planted the previous year. Deciding that he needed a break from entertaining relatives (and wanting to eat his plate of delicacies in peace and without a camera shoved in his face) Louis began his walk through the rose garden, admiring the excellently-appointed white and pink roses.

“I prefer red roses.”

Louis, mid-bite of a scrumptious sausage roll, turned on his heel at the sound of a man’s voice. Swallowing thickly, he saw a boy his own age leaning innocuously against a rather ugly statue of his great-grandfather, who he didn’t think would appreciated being elbowed in the groin in statue-form. He was quite handsome, Louis realised; thick, artfully tousled hair, gleaming green eyes that caught the weak sunlight and full lips with an attractively pink hue.

“We’re not related, are we?” Louis blurted out.

To his relief, the boy laughed, unabashed and hearty. “No. I’m Harry,” he said, holding out his hand. “I believe we met when we were both very young.”

Louis shook his hand, nodding but still unsure who this boy was. He had a strong English accent, which meant he certainly wasn’t from a foreign monarchy, and if they weren’t related (for which Louis was thankful; there was enough instances of incest in his heritage to put him off his supper) then Louis didn’t know how he might have received an invite.

“I attended your mother’s funeral two years ago but didn’t feel it polite to offer my condolences when I regret to have known neither her nor you.”

Louis nodded. “That’s alright. I honestly didn’t want to speak to anyone that day so I’m sure I appreciated one less person to talk to.”

Harry smiled in understanding and Louis thought he saw a flicker of something reminiscent to pain flash in his light eyes, as though strained for a moment. It left in an instant, however, and Harry’s smile was back in place.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I still can’t place you,” Louis said with what he hoped was an apologetic smile.

“Oh, apologies,” Harry said quickly. He arranged his posture until he stood at full height, his hands clasped to his sides and a boisterous smile tugging at his lips for his own apparent amusement. “Prince Harry the first, next in line to the Monegasque throne.”

Louis frowned. “Monaco?” he said in distinct surprise. “French surely isn’t your first language.”

Harry shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair in a slightly self-deprecating manner. “It was when I was younger, but I moved to England at the age of eight to enroll in Eton pursuant to my mother’s wishes. I’ve lived here ever since.”

An image of one of his lessons on royal families of the globe flashed in his mind’s eye and Louis distantly remembered learning about a member of the royal family in Monaco moving permanently to England. It had caused quite a scandal, apparently, as some of the more conservative politicians considered the move an insult to French educational methods.

“So, why do you prefer red roses?” Louis asked instead. Royal scandals were the bane of his existence.

Harry smiled at him, small and almost tentative. “They’re fuller, I think. They demand attention. And they convey more passion and resilience than any other colour.”

“The white roses are purer, though,” Louis said just to be contrary. He indicted ahead of him and Harry joined him at his side, strolling together through the garden.

“Purity is overestimated,” Harry said, avoiding Louis’ eye and trailing his gaze over the plants. A flock of birds sang in the near distance, their melodic sounds carried across the grounds. “They’re more easily embellished and then they’re no longer considered valuable. Impermanent.”

Louis nodded, though Harry didn’t spot the movement.

“You live in Kensington Palace, do you not?” Harry asked abruptly.

Louis smiled mischievously, assessing Harry for physical prowess; the walls and gates around the palace were high and well-guarded. “If you’re planning on sneaking in, I’d strongly advise against it, although I’d like to see you try.”

“No, nothing of the kind,” Harry said, though his eyes were distracted. “I just… I’ve been advised to familiarise myself with royal dwellings.” He paused for a moment, his gaze shifting to look at his shoes. “And—er—their inhabitants.”

“Why’s that?” Louis asked curiously.

“Self-assigned project,” Harry said vaguely. “Though such education will become public concern in the near future, I fear.”

Without so much as a second glance at Louis, Harry ducked his head, bid Louis a quiet good-bye and strode away with long, purposeful strides.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your lovely comments on the last (rather short) chapter. I hope that you enjoy this one too :)

The night after the church-charity royal gala found Louis laying on his four poster, massaging his toes and relaying the evening’s events to a keen Evangeline, a mildly interested Albert and his two young sisters, who had fallen asleep tucked beneath a pile of blankets at the end of his bed. The moonlight seeped through the thin fabric of the curtains and glided across the ornate décor of the room, catching the tea sets and candles, the elaborate, almost florid vanity.

It was customary for the royal cousins to sleepover at Kensington Palace after an exhausting evening of entertaining their guests. The chefs usually brought them hot chocolates with generous heaps of marshmallows and whipped cream, and their nannies tended to leave them be, provided they had behaved themselves during the day’s events.

“I actually rather enjoyed this one,” Albert said absently, tugging off his undershirt and pulling on a set of plaid pyjamas. “Maybe I’m becoming immune to the small talk.”

“That’s a scary thought, Al,” Louis said with an exaggerated shudder.

“Well, at least you’re able to talk about things you enjoy; everyone’s interested in your musical prowess and your artistic abilities, Al,” Evangeline huffed. “The only thing people want to talk about to me is how wonderful a king you’ll be one day and how proud I am of my dear, perfect brother.”

“I’ve told you before that you can direct a conversation to suit your interest if you put your mind to it,” Albert said loftily. “Besides, there were quite a few ladies I spoke to this evening that I hadn’t met before.”

Evangeline made a noise of interest. “I noticed that, yes. Any potential pursuits for your hand in marriage?”

“Of course not,” Albert said, though Louis noticed his cheeks turn a shade of pink and he seemed intent on avoiding eye-contact. “I was only wondering whether either of you knew that there would be so many guests at this event? Usually they’re reserved for relatives.”

Louis hummed. “Yeah, I noticed that.” He took a long sip of his hot chocolate, careful not to spill any on the light gold, satin bedsheets. “I was talking to the next in line to the Monegasque throne, Harry.”

“He’s our age, is he not? The eldest Grimaldi?” Albert said with interest. He wandered over to Louis’ adjoining en suite and plucked his toothbrush out of its container.

“What was he like?” Evangeline asked, tying her long hair in a plait and stifling a yawn.

Louis considered this for a moment. “Handsome and weird,” he said firmly.

“Just your type, then,” Evangeline said with a grin.

Louis threw a frivolous pillow at her, which she caught easily.

Albert remerged from the bathroom, his hair laying soft and limp over his forehead and looking far less severe with the gel brushed out. “He grew up in London, did he not? I distinctly remember hearing news of him being admitted to Cambridge last year, after I had graduated.”

“So what happened?” Evangeline asked Louis eagerly, removing the layers of makeup on her face and revealing dark circles under her eyes. Evangeline was constantly being chastised for sneaking out in the middle of the night and engaging in rather illicit activities that thankfully never met her parents’ or the press’s ears. Louis was distinctly unsurprised by the purple shadows and wan, drained colouring of her skin. 

Louis sighed, placing his hot chocolate on the bedside table and heaving himself off the bed to help Albert set up the swaddle of blankets and mattresses on the ground for him and Evangeline to sleep on. “He introduced himself and we talked for a couple of minutes. He sounded a bit pretentious but that hardly came as a surprise. And then he said something really strange and just walked away before I could ask him what the matter was. I was more shocked than anything, really.”

“Well, what was it that he said?” Evangeline said, scrubbing furiously at the mascara marking the corners of her eyes.

Louis shifted the larger mattress to the side of the window and sighed heavily. “He asked whether I lived in Kensington Palace and I said yes. I thought he was trying to crack a joke or something—heaven knows what he was trying to communicate, really,” Louis said, shaking his head at the memory. Dwelling on it seemed to serve the purpose of further confusing him. “So I asked why he was so interested and then he said he’s trying to educate himself on monarchs of the world and their residencies.”

He glanced up and caught their respective reactions; Evangeline’s eyebrows were pinched together and she looked thoroughly baffled but Albert’s eyes were wide and earnest, a curious hint to his gaze.

“What did he say after that?” Albert asked urgently.

Louis frowned at his eagerness but continued nonetheless. “He said that his little educational project was soon going to become public knowledge. And then he had this sheepish look about him and then he scarpered, leaving me along in the rose bush!”

“It’s no wonder he scarpered,” Albert breathed.

Louis, taken aback by his reaction, stared. “What are you talking about, Al?”

But Albert wasn’t paying him any heed; his expression was wrought with mingled concern and dawning realisation. He had fell back onto the mattress, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth in a manner that we so unusual for Albert that Louis glanced over to Evangeline for support.

“Albert,” she said sharply, her gaze imploring. “What is it that you know and we don’t?”

He glanced up, as though emerging from a deep thought and actually seeing them for the first time. “Well,” he sighed, pulling his knees against his chest and glancing between them. “The reason this is all so… revealing, is twofold. It’s all speculation on my part, but it already seems to add up.”

“What adds up?” Louis asked, shifting closer to sit opposite Albert.

Albert folded his hands in his lap and sighed. “I think that Harry Grimaldi may ascend the throne of the Monegasque kingdom very soon.”

Louis’ jaw dropped and he blinked rapidly, trying to absorb this piece of information without outright denying its plausibility. “_What_?”

“You’re barking,” Evangeline said flatly. “There’s no way his father intends to abdicate the throne anytime soon. And how would you gather that from Louis’ conversation with him?”

Albert unfurled himself from his position on the bed and faced them both, an indication that he planned on lecturing them on a subject they hadn’t encountered in their own classes on royal etiquette. “Prospective kings and queens are required to familiarise themselves with everything there is to know about other kingdoms and royal families. Since they’re expected to travel to meet with each notable member of royalty within the first year of their coronation, they need to be well-versed in the intricacies and functions of each other national monarchy in order to show a new, intelligent face of their own. It’s a competitive thing.”

“So you think that Harry Grimaldi attended this function today in order to mingle and get to know our royal family?” Evangeline said dubiously. She threw the cotton wool pad decisively into the bathroom rubbish bin. “Well, if so, he didn’t do a very good job. I didn’t even see him.”

“It’s no wonder you didn’t see him,” Albert said sagely. “I wouldn’t blame him for leaving straight after talking to Louis. He obviously didn’t mean to let slip that he was scoping out our royal attachments, especially if he knew who Louis was.”

“That’s a fair point,” Louis said quietly. “He wouldn’t want anyone to know that his father’s abdicating until it happens.”

“Louis, listen to yourself,” Evangeline said impatiently. “Neither of you are considering the very pressing question of why Harry would be expected to accept the crown when his own father doesn’t seem particularly eager to relinquish the throne.”

Louis pondered this for a moment and even Albert fell silent.

“He’s only our age,” Louis said quietly. “I don’t think even you’d be up for the title yet, Al.”

Albert shook his head slowly, gaze trained on his hands.

“Wait, you said your reasoning was twofold. Why else do you think he was here, if not only to associate himself with our delightfully pompous, stinking-rich relatives?” Louis asked.

Albert glanced up at this. “Marriage,” he said simply. “His Serene Highness of Monaco is required to be married prior to coronation,” he recited in a tone that suggested he had been forced to memorise this piece of information. “If Harry was underage, then he wouldn’t be eligible to take the throne, no matter his position in line. But since he is, it only makes sense that he’d want to find a suitor quickly.”

Louis laughed at this, grinning broadly at Albert. “And you think he wants to find someone here? Seriously? A dull, conservative, pasty-skinned Brit to marry?” He shook his head. “If he’s lived in England this long, the people of Monaco won’t even consider him one of their own and marrying a Briton would just prove that. His people will want him to move back to France and marry a young, sophisticated French girl who can produce a million heirs.”

“I agree with Louis,” said Evangeline firmly. “As next in line, he’d either want someone who’s French or someone who’s very highly regarded in another royal family. For the sake of entertaining your ridiculous theory, Al, let’s say he wanted to marry into our family—the British Royal Family. He obviously couldn’t marry you, Al, even if you were a girl because you’re in line for your own crown and therefore not eligible. So then he’d turn to me, but as we didn’t so much as exchange two words this afternoon, I doubt that he was particularly interested. Then comes Louis, but your genitals rule you out, unfortunately, Louis. And Alice and Maggie are obviously too young so that’s your theory tossed out the window, Al.” She finished with a satisfied sigh and climbed beneath the blankets of her mattress.

Albert shook his head. “Don’t rule this out so quickly just because he didn’t get down on hand and knee before you. And you said it yourself, Evangeline: he’d want to marry someone who’s very highly regarded in another royal family. Marrying into our family would not only strengthen his position and public image, especially considering his youth and inexperience, but also forge an excellent tie with a globally renowned royal family.”

“Us? Globally renowned?” Louis squawked, collapsing into a fit of laughter. “For what, exactly? Marrying out cousins and giving our children one of the same twelve names? Or spending lavish amounts of money on ourselves?”

Albert swatted him away good-naturedly. “Alright, alright, you Republican. Forget I said that,” he said, looking imploringly between them. “You must know that I have a point, though. It’s far too obscure for Harry to strike up a conversation like that and then scurry away without a good reason.”

Evangeline was still shaking her head in disbelief, clearly unconvinced by Albert’s theory. Louis made his way languidly back into his own bed, checking his two sisters to make sure that they were both warm and still asleep before closing his eyes. Albert switched off the lights and blew out the candles a moment later, plunging them into semi-darkness with only the faint glow of the moon streaming through the satin curtains visible. Louis allowed himself a moment to ponder; what truly was Harry’s motivation to strike up a conversation with Louis in the first place when he clearly had neither marriage nor close royal family insight to gain from talking to him? It was baffling and consuming, leaving Louis caught in a tangle of theories, each us unrealistic as the last.

*

“What is the red rose’s significance to the Monegasque monarchy?”

Lucy-Mae, Louis' nanny, glanced up from where she was stitching a number of long garments made of thick, floral fabric that Louis presumed were either very large dresses or curtains. “Why are you asking me, Louis? Surely you can ask you father or one of your royal etiquette professors.”

Louis shrugged touching the silky fabric before she gave him a look of warning and he retracted it. “I prefer asking you,” he said simply.

“Fine,” Lucy-Mae sighed, shaking her head. “I’m not sure why you’re interested in Monaco all of a sudden, but I’ll indulge you nevertheless.” She placed her stitching aside and turned to face Louis, the sunlight catching her movement and illuminating the gentle wrinkles around her eyes. “Traditionally, Monaco was one of the only monarchies that valued true love in marriage. Rather than being concerned with finding the wealthiest or most powerful partner, princes and princesses place enormous importance on achieving complete happiness in marriage. It was believed that, with a proper union between parents, capable and empathetic heirs could be produced. The passion, commitment and romance that the princes and princesses of Monaco strove for was always symbolised by the red rose.”

Louis considered this, feeling a surprising warmth emanate from a region near his chest. “That’s a lovely sentiment,” he said, mostly to himself.

“I rather think so too,” said Lucy-Mae with an almost whimsical smile on her face. “It's certainly better than the tradition here of viewing marriage as a political, or economic proposition. Why do you ask, anyway?”

Louis grinned at this. “Albert’s convinced that the current Prince of Monaco is going to kick the bucket any day now and that his twenty year old son, who’s more British than French, is about to take the throne.”

Lucy-Mae’s eyes bulged. “And here I was thinking that _we_ had drama,” she said with a shake of her head. Pursing her lips and looking suddenly quite stern, she returned to her needlework. “Don’t start spreading rumours without a basis now, Louis. Unless it’s been confirmed, I don’t want to hear a word.”

Louis nodded glumly.

“And you know very well how rumours can spiral out of control,” she huffed. “I remember your father’s outrage when the press released a story about you sneaking out of Eton one night and graffitiing ‘Down With The Monarchy—We’re All Just Horny Tories With Silver Spoons Shoved Down Our Throats’ on your house master’s quarters. The newspapers had an absolute field day. It was an utter national embarrassment.”

“Oh, yes,” Louis said, trying to suppress a self-satisfied smile. “Complete travesty.”

Lucy-Mae looked up sharply and narrowed her eyes. “What was that, Louis?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, trying very ardently to suppress his guilt colouring his tone. Lucy-Mae looked unconvinced.

“And then there was the numerous close incidents in which you nearly outed yourself,” she continued, stitching with vigour. “I still get nightmares about that time _The Daily Telegraph_ threatened to release a front-page spread about you and one of your boarding mates caught canoodling in the corner of a London gay bar, including photographic evidence.”

“Canoodling,” Louis sniggered.

“It’s no laughing matter, Louis,” she said tersely. “You wouldn’t believe the sheer amount of bribery that preventing the publication of that story took.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” he said, smiling apologetically. “I won’t spread any rumours about Harry. Promise.”

Lucy-Mae frowned. “Harry? You’re on first name basis?” she asked.

Louis shrugged. “I suppose. We met for the first time last week at the gala event.”

“Not the first time,” Lucy-Mae said distractedly. “I remember him as an infant.”

“Really?” Louis asked curiously.

“Yes, because the Monegasque family visit to Windsor Castle took place within the first month of my appointment as royal nanny and I remember every waking minute of that experience because you were the loudest, whiniest infant I had ever minded. The visit took place merely a month after your birth and not long after Prince Harry’s either. You two got along swimmingly, though he kept trying to push you onto your back because it made you giggle. It was the first respite I’d had in a month from all of your screaming and crying.”

Louis scrunched his nose. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t pretend to be sorry about things you can’t remember when I know for a fact that you don’t regret half the things you _do_ remember; like your extensive record of misbehaviour at Eton.”

Louis’ face broke into a grin. “Alright, Lucy-Mae,” he said genially, pulling her into a warm embrace.

She was a stickler for rules and formality, but Louis knew that she couldn’t resist a hug. She sighed, patted his back and said in a much gentler tone, “Now, off you go and prepare for supper.”

*

The announcement of the death of the Crown Prince of Monaco arrived precisely two weeks later, at midday. An aggressive form of prostate cancer, the report informed them. It had been diagnosed too late and the indicative signs of its presence had been either dismissed or ignored until it posed a serious threat to his life.

Hearing the news had been deafening for Louis; any mention of cancer was still striking, even two years after his mother's death, but to hear a story so close to his own was heart-wrenching. The funeral had been arranged for the following week and the British royal family in its entirety had been invited to attend. The only person that Louis had on his mind throughout the following week was Harry; he was not only confronted with the devastating death of his father, but the throne, undesired, had been thrust before him irrefutably.

Louis had allowed himself to cry, locking himself in his bedroom and letting the raw, renewed grief overcome him. There were times when he missed his mother so desperately that no amount of comfort or pity could bridge the distance he felt from everyone around him. It had been cathartic, allowing himself to release his emotion, full and unbridled. Afterwards, Louis had taken a long, soothing shower and crawled into bed, exhausted but no longer trembling. He had been confronted with a singular aim: to ensure that Harry knew he had someone to talk to who might understand.


	3. three

"Are you nearly ready, Louis? We're going to be late if we don't leave soon and I absolutely refuse to shuffle in sheepishly at the back of the church," Evangeline said from outside his bedroom door. 

"Just a minute!" he called. He fixed his tie and scrutinised his reflection in the mirror.

It wasn't the same suit he had worn to his mother's funeral but it might as well have been. The shirt was tight across his chest – not suffocating but just uncomfortable enough to remind him that he wasn’t supposed to move or stretch or breathe too deeply. To remind him of his role. He couldn’t be a boy who had lost his mother, but a Prince grieving for the nation.

Louis had thought that over the last couple of years he had come to terms with his grief, had reached the depths of pain and felt the most poignant emptiness. He had thought grief was a journey to complete, not a burden to carry with him. But the news of the Prince of Monaco's death had struck him so acutely that the pain he had felt was as clear as though it had never left.

"Louis, come on," Evangeline called impatiently.

"I'm coming, Evie," he muttered, shoving his feet into a pair of polished dress shoes and leaving his hotel bedroom. He wrenched the door open. "Don't get your knickers in a knot," he told an impatient-looking Evangeline, who was tapping her foot relentlessly.

Louis handed his key to the security guard outside his hotel bedroom and allowed Evangeline to pull him through the hotel to the secluded car park where their cars were waiting.

They were to arrive with their families – Evangeline and Albert with their parents; and Louis with his father and younger sisters, Maggie and Alice.

“See you there,” Evangeline said. She took a long moment to examine him, her eyebrows pinched as though she was trying to remember something that she wanted to tell them.

“Yeah,” he muttered, climbing inside the car to his immediate right.

"Good of you to finally join us," his father said, though his tone wasn't stern.

"Sorry. It was Evie's fault," Louis said, leaning over to ruffle Maggie's hair. She squealed and batted him away with a chubby three year old fist. 

"I highly doubt that," his father muttered, tapping on the glass separating the back seats from the front to indicate to the driver that they were ready to leave. 

The church – St. Paul's – was no more than ten minutes away. Throngs of people dressed in black and carrying bouquets and wreaths lined the streets. There was an achingly mournful rhythm to their procession, each and every person faced towards the church, most with bowed heads. The crowds only grew until they reached the congregation from the church spilling over the front steps, where a string quartet were playing.

Louis craned his neck and caught the flash of a camera near the steps. From his limited view, it was clear that the church was almost obscenely opulent. Louis remembered how much he had despised the decadence at his mother's funeral. After all, how could he appreciate the beautiful, lavish things that money could buy when they repulsed him? He wondered vaguely how Harry felt about the crowds, about the tone, about the entire affair. Perhaps he didn’t care, or couldn’t bring himself to focus too intently on anything to do with the funeral. It surely wasn’t his place to dictate the colour of the flowers or the hymns sung. That was something Louis had learned long ago – these public events were never about the royals, not really. They were about feeding the public appetite for information, scandal; they were about image and exposure and pretence; and even during a monarch’s funeral, the headlines would cover Evangeline’s dress designer, or whether a media outlet thought that Louis had looked sombre enough.

“On my count,” Louis’ father said quietly, looking intently out of the window as their car rolled slowly up to the carpet draped over the church steps.

Louis quickly flattened Maggie’s hair, wiped a couple of toast crumbs from Alice’s cheek and straightened his tie before his door was thrust open and his was struck by the flash of cameras. He shifted immediately into a different skin under the gaze of the cameras and crowds. Reverent, solemn, composed – everything that didn’t come naturally to him. He allowed his father to step ahead of him on the carpet before following precisely two steps behind him.

The photographers didn’t shout – they were royal photographers and select journalists from national newspapers, so no doubt they had been schooled on the etiquette required of them on this occasion. There was, however, a distinct murmur as Louis, his father and sisters joined the rest of the British royal family at the top of the stairs. He tried not to let his eye wander, to remain focused and unseeing, but it was difficult with such an extraordinarily vast view of the crowds below. A young boy tugging the hem of his mother’s dress, crying; the austere quivering of the violin; an elderly woman wearing a floor-length black veil, weeping ostentatiously.

His grandmother, the Queen, was presented with a token and escorted through the enormous doors of the church. Three, two, one – his uncle, aunt and father left. Albert and Evangeline followed dutifully. Louis gently tapped Alice’s back and she took little Maggie’s hand, bringing up the rear of their family. It was a familiar dance at this stage – the steps, the expressions, the timing. Louis knew it all like the back of his hand.

The church was very almost full and a young woman was singing a magnificent French hymn amid polite whispering and suppressed sneezing due to the abundance of flowers. The stained glass windows were truly marvellous, with ornate plastering with intricate moulded designs. A flag-draped coffin stood proudly on top of the altar, with a diamond-encrusted crown atop, glimmering spectacularly, almost insensitively, in the candlelight. Louis dropped his gaze.

They were led to the fourth row – which would have been an insult to their status on any other occasion. But as they were guests at a foreign monarchy event – because a funeral was perceived as an event – it was perfectly acceptable. In front of them were the French President and her husband, and behind them, from what Louis caught his aunt Helena say smugly, were the Spanish royal family. Louis peaked behind him and surreptitiously caught the eye of Alfonso, the King’s eldest son who was three years Louis’ senior and who Louis had always harboured a crush for. Evangeline nudged him in the ribs.

“Granny alert at nine o’clock,” she muttered.

Louis glanced around and caught his grandmother’s eye. She was stony-faced as ever, but Louis knew that he didn’t mistake the subtle nod she directed at him, a small gesture that she was there for him, that she knew the painful memories this arose. He smiled sadly back at her before masquerading his expression once more.

Returning to look at the front, Louis sought out Harry and instantly found him at the front row. Although he too was facing towards the front, Louis could see both that his head was bowed and his shoulders hunched ever so slightly. A woman – his mother, Louis presumed – was clutching a handkerchief in one hand and gripping a long chain in the other.

A distant bell tolled, the church doors shut with a resounding echo and silence fell. Only a gentle sobbing from the front row could be heard as the French singer resumed her place once more.

*

“I see Alfonso is looking as dashingly handsome as ever,” Evangeline said, taking a long sip from her glass of wine.

Louis followed her line of sight and nodded appreciatively. These social gatherings were the most tedious of all, but at least their position in the corner of the magnificent hall gave them a perfect view of the affair. They could avoid engaging in small-talk and politely agreeing to luncheons with distant relatives and foreign royal counterparts that both parties knew would never actually take place.

“His mother still looks like a sunburnt donkey in lipstick,” Evangeline said primly.

“You’re a cruel drunk,” Louis muttered into his glass of wine, trying to surreptitiously lean against the wall while maintaining good posture in case anyone was watching him.

“You called her a donkey last time,” Evangeline said. “Didn’t you say she gave you the stink eye all night because she noticed you and Alfonso talking a little too closely?"

“Oh yeah,” Louis said, giving up on his attempt to maintain perfect poise – the photographers weren’t in attendance at the post-dinner event. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“Are you alright?” she asked, pursing her lips.

“Fine,” he said automatically. “Just a little distracted.”

It was perfectly true. Louis had spent the last three hours searching for Harry amid the crowd, but each time he spotted him, Harry seemed to be in close conversation with someone else. He was usually to be seen smiling genially, acting gracious and polite, ever-patient and present. So unlike Louis in the same position two years previously.

“Still looking for Harry?” she asked sympathetically.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s not that I _have_ to see him, I just… it’s going to sound stupid but I made a pact with myself when we first found out about his father's death that I’d look out for him, even if it just meant telling him I was there if he wanted to talk to someone who understood first hand what going through the death of a parent was like under the glare of the spotlight, you know?” He sighed. “But I don’t want to intrude. He seems to be handling it fine.”

“Don’t say that, Louis,” she said seriously. “I’m sure he’s distraught inside.” She put her wine glass on one of the canape tray-filled tables and sighed. “You and I both know how easy it can be to slip into the smile-and-wave-and-act-like-you’re-not-dying-inside default when it’s necessary. And Harry has the weight of a brand new crown on his head on top of all of that. I’d imagine he’s just in survival mode at the moment, trying to get through today before he can even start to unpick everything he’s going through.”

Louis pulled his lower lip between his teeth. “You’re right. I’ll try to catch him after this person,” he said, nodding at the elderly woman Harry was smiling benevolently at. But when the woman patted his shoulder and stepped aside, giving Louis the opportunity to made his way over, Harry sidled swiftly past a throng of people and out of the room. Already resolved to find Harry before the evening ended (or Louis got too drunk to form a coherent sentence), he followed Harry out of the room.

When the doors closed behind him, the chatter and music ceased. Instead, Louis heard intent footsteps on the marble flooring which he knew must belong to Harry. He wandered through the portrait-lined hall, snorting at the pallid, despondent faces of the Grimaldi ancestors, as though they were disapproving of him.

Louis turned the corner at the end of the hall and a gentle breeze fluttered past him. In front of him stood Harry, his back facing Louis and leaning on a balcony which overlooked the vast grounds below. He looked stood utterly still, as though trying not to disturb the late evening. Louis had only just decided that it would be best to leave Harry alone when the other man spoke, his voice slightly strained.

“If you got lost on your way to the bathroom, it’s down the hall on your left.”

Harry hadn’t turned around so Louis spoke up.

“Actually no, I was looking for you.”

Harry stood up at this and turned on his heel. It was only in the weak moonlight that Louis saw that his skin had a sickly pallor to it.

“I can leave if you wanted time alone from–“ he waved his hand generally in the direction of the hall “all of that chaos.”

The corners of Harry’s lips turned upwards. “Yes, it is rather a shitshow in there.” He considered Louis for a moment and then nodded to himself. “You should join me though. I’ll never bore of this view.”

Feeling slightly out of place but curious nevertheless, Louis crossed the threshold to the balcony. The view certainly was astounding. Endless rows of perfectly-trimmed trees, a maze, trickling fountains and, at the very centre, a manicured area dedicated solely to roses.

“The company not to your taste?” Harry asked.

“They all just want to talk about croquet and fox hunting and the best time of year to plant hydrangeas in the royal gardens. I tried to bring up Extinction Rebellion and gender equality in government with one of my great uncles not half an hour ago and he looked like I’d just told him I wanted to suck his toes.”

Harry snorted. “My experience is usually extraordinarily similar except tonight…”

As he trailed off, Louis glanced beside him and saw Harry drop his gaze to the glass of wine in his hand.

“The reason I came looking for you,” Louis began rather awkwardly. “Well, I just wanted to say that if you needed to talk to someone – about any of this – I’m around. Well, not here in Monaco but – you know. Available.” God, since when had Louis been so uncomfortable?

Harry smiled at him almost bemusedly, until a shadow crossed his face and Louis could see how drained his face was of colour, how dull his gaze was, how rigidly he was standing.

“Thanks, Louis,” he said quietly. A brief pause. “Your mother passed two years ago, was it?”

Louis nodded and let his gaze return to the distant, twinkling lights of the city beyond the grounds. “Still feels like yesterday. Everything feels so vivid sometimes.”

Harry shook his head. “It’s blurry to me – all of it.”

“That’s the numbness. The initial shock,” Louis said gently. “It’ll pass soon enough.”

Harry pulled his lower lip between his teeth. “I don’t think it can be. I mean – I knew this was coming… eventually.” He heaved a sigh and rubbed his right temple slowly. “I knew that my father had cancer nine months ago. I wasn’t supposed to know. My mother told me a few weeks ago that he had explicitly told everyone not to tell me. He thought I wouldn’t need to know. He thought he would improve – the doctors had been optimistic at first. But after a while I started noticing his weight loss and his meal changes; the doctors coming in and out; my mother’s anxiety.” Harry let out a loud, brash laugh that startled Louis. “I mean, I’m not a complete doorknob, of course I caught on. But I just…” his voice was almost a whisper now, “I didn’t make the connection. His death meant more than the death of a father.”

Louis’ heart was heavy, his mouth parched and yet he couldn’t bear to move an inch, to even swallow for fear of interrupting Harry.

“That’s what I hate most, you know,” Harry said, his eyes bloodshot now and swimming with tears, “seeing them cry. Seeing my people cry. Because they’re mourning their Prince – and I mourn my father. And I hate them for it sometimes because they see an icon, a relic, a monarch. And I see my stupid dad, who always wore mismatching socks, and who did the crossword every Sunday morning, who had a fascination with motorcycles even though he’d never ridden one and who knew every line from Gone with the Wind just because it’s my mother’s favourite film. I can’t even grieve with my people and now I’m expected to replace my father. To be their Prince.”

A distant bell tolled and a door swung open, carrying with it music and chatter. Insouciant. Entirely oblivious.

“Harry,” Louis said carefully. He desperately wanted to comfort him, to hold him, to rub his back but anything of the sort would be inappropriate, undignified and would probably lead to even more embarrassment. “I know it’s shit. It’s the worst you’re ever going to feel in your life. And everyone knows that. They mightn’t understand properly, and they might still expect you to maintain a perfect pretence, but they still understand that you’ve lost your father.”

The chatter was growing louder and footsteps – a large group of people by the sound of it – were approaching.

Harry sniffed loudly and, strangely, Louis found it rather endearing.

“That’ll be the bell’s final toll of the night,” Harry clarified. “Signalling the end of the evening for people to retire and reflect. It’s customary when there has been a royal bereavement.”

Harry rubbed at the corner of his eyes and smiled sadly at Louis, his lips bright red and his eyes slightly bloodshot, which only severed to make his irises look more striking.

“I’m sorry about this,” he muttered.

“Don’t be thick.”

“No, I am,” Harry insisted. “This isn’t your burden.”

“I don’t care,” Louis shrugged. “I offered. You can’t seriously expect to bottle everything inside, can you?”

“That was my original plan,” Harry said, smiling.

The crowds were becoming louder, rowdier.

“I had better go or Evangeline will be wondering where I’ve gotten to,” Louis said.

Louis was sure he hadn’t imagined the flicker of disappointment in Harry’s expression though.

“Text me, though,” Louis said before he could change his mind. “I’m usually awake late. Bit of an insomniac, and I tend to get sudden urges to scream at the top of my lungs in the middle of the night just to annoy my bodyguard. So text me whenever.”

Harry looked at him for a very long moment before smiling. “I don’t text, but I shall be seeing you quite soon, I expect.”

Louis frowned. “How?”

Harry’s smile grew, a touch of teasing in his expression which clashed horribly with the tear stains on his cheeks. At least, Louis resigned himself to admitting, he had managed to make Harry smile.

“You’ll see. Royal engagements. Secret business.” Harry tapped his nose and stepped away from the balcony towards the approaching crowds, leaving Louis utterly flummoxed.


	4. four

The plane journey back to England was surprisingly brief. Louis, however, was restless. 

“For the last time, would you sit down?” Evangeline implored as Louis, who had been pacing the narrow aisle for the better part of five minutes, passed her again. 

“I can’t,” Louis muttered. “It’s compulsive. I need to think and I can’t concentrate crammed into a tiny seat with Maggie snoring next to me. She’s breathing like she’s just finished a marathon. With asthma.”

Evangeline moaned as she tried to shift to a more comfortable position, head resting against the crook of her arm against the plane window. 

“Aren’t you too exhausted for concentrating?” she said, pulling her feet onto the seat and tucking them beneath her. “My feet are killing me. Remind me never to wear those heels again. I genuinely think these blisters are going to leave permanent scars.”

Louis rolled his eyes and took the empty seat opposite her with a sigh. “I’m trying to figure out whether Harry was purposely trying to be elusive just to get to me or whether he just knows something that I don’t.”

“What do you mean?” 

Louis unbuttoned his shirt and stretched back on the seat and winced as the armrest dug into his back. 

“I mean,” he said, kicking off his dress shoes, “just before we parted Harry told me that he wouldn’t need to text me if he ever needed – I don’t know, support or advice or someone to just listen, you know? He said that instead I’d be seeing him soon.”

Evangeline looked up from massaging her feet at this, interest piqued. “Did he really? That’s rather odd.”

“My sentiments precisely.”

Evangeline hummed contemplatively. “You don’t think he’s planning to invade Britain now that he’s taken the reigns of the Monegasque throne, do you?”

Louis shook his head. “If that was his ploy, he’s played me for a fool.”

Evangeline grinned. “Well it’s a lucky thing plain, unromantic, sensible Albert is going to be King and not you. You and your sordid affairs can remain a healthy six feet from the crown at all times.”

Louis threw a magazine from the pouch beside his seat at her which she miraculously managed to catch. 

“What were you saying about me, Evie?” Albert said, making his way along the aisle and falling clumsily into the seat beside her.

“Nothing you haven’t heard before,” she muttered, flicking through the magazine Louis had thrown at her. 

“Anything scandalous about us?” Louis asked. 

“The usual tosh,” she said. “Jealousy is destroying Mum and Dad’s marriage. Granny is actually a shape-shifting alien reptile. An unnamed source insists that Uncle Henry is the father of her quintuplets. I’ve been hiding a forbidden romance with my piano tutor for the last three years.”

“Have you?”

“Fat chance,” she muttered. 

“I really don’t want to hear another story about how I plan to murder Dad to become King sooner,” Albert said over a yawn. “So what was it you were saying earlier?”

“Just discussing Louis’ theories about Prince Harry and whether he’s a ridiculously beautiful enigma or thwarting to seduce Louis, disarm him and overthrow Granny.”

“The former seems marginally more plausible,” Albert said, folding an empty packet of salted peanuts. “What did he say?”

“That we’re going to be meeting again very soon, apparently,” Louis said.

Albert smiling infuriatingly knowingly. “Well, of course. I must have told you a thousand times before. There will be a twelve week interlude between his father’s death and his accession to the throne and he has quite a task to complete before then: launch a huge publicity campaign in which he demonstrates that despite his youth he’s fully capable of acting as Monaco’s Crown Prince, which will most likely involve visiting other monarchies to create good relations, find a wife to boost his image of a new, mature leader and hold lots of public, charitable events.”

“A wife?” Evangeline said incredulously. “He’s twenty, Albert.”

He shrugged. “These are ancient procedures that a new monarch must follow, Evie. I haven’t plucked them off the top of my head. And besides, you’re jealous that he hasn’t sought you out for so much as a dance so you’re definitely not on his list.”

“I doubt he’s too concerned about finding a potential wife at the minute,” Louis said. “I’ve spoken to him once and he was just about ready to break down the minute I asked him if he needed someone to talk to.”

Evangeline sobered at this. “Of course, Louis. I’m sure he’ll be just as open to talking to you if he’ll be visiting Buckingham Palace soon.”

“Evie’s right, Louis,” Albert said, reaching beneath his seat to produce a fleece blanket which he threw at Louis. “Now get some sleep. I really can’t deal with you when your moody and tired and I’m bound to have a hangover tomorrow too.”

*

The following week saw Louis ease back into his regular routine. He breakfasted at eight with Albert before they were both driven to Cambridge – usually late, thanks in no small part to Louis – where they attended classes. Louis studied philosophy and drama; Albert studied history of art and political sciences. Louis ate lunch with his drama crew, where topics ranged from how anti-immigration became part of the British psyche to why no sequel of any film will ever match the brilliance of _ Shrek 2 _. Albert sat at the head table with dread-inducingly boring, turtleneck-wearing Tories with long drawls. Then both Louis and Albert were driven back to Buckingham Palace, where they then changed and went for a 'walk in the gardens', which was code for them both to stroll to the point beyond which no guards were stationed before Louis sneaked off for a smoke with some of his friends or visited his Mum’s grave. Louis was never sure where Albert actually met, but they had long ago learned not to ask questions. And the fact that nobody but Louis knew that Albert wasn’t such a squeaky-clean King-to-be as everyone – even his own sister – thought made Louis rather smug. 

It was later on Friday evening, after a delicious dinner of cottage pie, beef Wellington and creamy mashed potato that the news arrived. Louis had been lying across his bed, re-reading his King Lear essay and trying to frantically edit it before the following morning when his grandmother’s lady-in-waiting – Penelope – knocked on his door.

“Prince Louis,” she began, nodding at him, “your Majesty the Queen wishes to have a word.”

Louis raised his eyebrows. “Alright. Now?”

“If you’re not busy, yes.”

He sighed, heaved himself to his feet and added his essay to the growing pile of books on his bedside locker. 

“Thanks, Penelope,” he said, following her out of the room.

The walk to the Queen’s quarters took a generous five minutes and involved three flights of stairs so, quite apart from the fact that he wasn’t allowed to simply wander around that part of Buckingham Palace, he rarely ventured there. They passed the exquisite oil paintings, wandered up the gold-encrusted staircase and followed the designated pathway along one of the corridors, where maintenance work was being done on the plastering. 

When they arrived outside the Queen’s quarters, Louis saw that Evangeline and Albert were already waiting.

“Oh, you’ve been summoned too, have you?” Louis asked, grinning. 

“Yes, it seems so,” Albert says, checking his watch. “You don’t know what this is about, do you? I was rather hoping to catch the end of _ Great Britain’s Finest Forts and Castles _. They’re doing a special on Stirling Castle tonight and I’m supposed to be launching a wildlife conservation foundation project there on Sunday and wanted to brush up a little on my regional history.”

Evangeline made an ostentatious snoring noise. 

Penelope knocked firmly, paused a moment, then opened the double doors for them. 

The three of them followed in practiced order and filed into the lavish room, complete with glimmering surfaces and dull paintings of dour-looking ancestors. 

“Good evening Granny,” Albert said, nodding.

Louis and Evangeline did the same before she ushered them closer.

“Enough of that, you three,” she insisted. “Do sit down. We have another weekend of events, I’m afraid.”

Louis, Albert and Evangeline each took their places on the plush chairs on the opposite side of her drawing desk, on which lay a number of files, a fountain pen and a photograph of Louis’ mother. It was Louis’ favourite photograph of her – short hair, a wild glint in her eyes and a brash, natural grin on her face. 

“Now,” she said, pulling a file closer to her and adjusting her glasses. “Albert, you have a wildlife conservation foundation launch event on Sunday in Scotland. You’ll be taking a flight directly at ten sharp. You also have a telephone call due with Britain’s representatives at the European Youth Parliament that evening. Evangeline, as I understand it you have a personal engagement on Sunday morning but then you have a luncheon with the head of the Royal Society of Literature about your desire for a better gender balance on the books promoted and included in the annual reading list. And Louis, you shall be presenting the British Youth Awards on Sunday evening and I see here,” she said, lifting a pink sticky-note from the file with distaste, “from my advisor that you are to be reminded that your _ King Lear _ essay is due tomorrow.”

Louis suppressed a grin. “That’s correct, Granny.”

Albert and Evangeline exchanged a significant look with him. It was highly unusual for their grandmother to discuss their evening plans with them unless there was something particularly important that she wished to personally brief them on. 

“Now,” the Queen said, putting the file away, “as you have probably noticed, your Saturday schedules – that is to say, tomorrow’s schedules – have been left entirely blank. This is due to a recent development in international affairs that I wish to talk to you about. It may prove to have quite an impact on the focus of our attention during the next couple of months."

She looked between the three of them rather sternly before removing her glasses and sighing. "We have been approached by the a member of the Monegasque press division about a potential coalition of sorts. You see, I have decided to abdicate the throne."

If Louis had been holding something, he would most certainly have dropped it. As it was, he managed to make a strange gasping noise that sounded like an undignified squwak. Albert slammed his hand on the table and Evangeline said "Holy cricket, Granny, you're putting _ Dad _ in charge?"

"That's correct, Evangeline. My eightieth birthday is fast approaching and I do believe it is high time that I let your dear father take a turn in the driver's seat for a change. I will certainly miss some aspects of the job, but I do want to spend some time outside the immediate spotlight."

"You have told Dad, haven't you?" Evangeline said. 

She smiled. "Your father has known for about two years that I intended to abdicate and I informed him three months ago to begin polishing his crown, so I expect he is aware." 

Albert seemed to be lost for words. "But Granny," he whispered, "this really - what I mean to say is - everything is just so - well, it's just rather sudden. I mean, this changes quite a lot."

"Perhaps," the Queen said with an evasive smile. "But I think a fresh perspective can only be positive. Especially with that buffoon inhabiting number 10, Downing Street. Perhaps your father will keep him in check." She looked pointedly between them. "You didn't hear me say that."

"Say what?" Louis said. 

"So," Albert began again, a dazed look in his eyes, "what was it you wanted to tell us about our Saturday schedules, Granny?" 

"Good of you to remind me," she said, placing her glasses back on the bridge of her long nose, "as I've told you, there's been a development in terms of foreign relations. I had informed the international monarchies of my intention to abdicate last month and received a request from the Prince of Monaco last week, asking for a kind of arrangement to be agreed."

Louis frowned. "What kind of arrangement?"

"Well, it is understood by him and his team, no doubt, that my abdication will signal a change of roles here in Britain. Your father will be King, but that will mean that you three will additionally take new titles and significantly more prevalent leadership roles. Greater power, greater visibility. And this visibility will signal a new era. With such a change, however, comes a demand for renewed strength and unity. You three must be seen as the trustworthy, stoic icons of a new sovereign."

Louis tried to sit straighter in his seat under his grandmother's stern, unwavering gaze. 

"Right now, unfortunately, you're still viewed as children. Which you are, of course, but we have to make a concerted effort before I announce my abdication to shift this international perception so that you're viewed in full bloom."

Louis pressed his lips together with some struggle but allowed his grandmother to continue. 

"Now, Prince Harry is in a different and tragic situation entirely, but we share similar short-term aims in terms of boosting and shifting international profile. And it seems plain to us both that an alliance of sorts is in order."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I absolutely adore reading your comments :) I hope everyone stays safe and healthy during this difficult time - B x


	5. five

Louis was rudely awoken by Lucy-Mae flinging his bedroom curtains open at eight in the morning, ushering in the dazzling sunshine.

“Up you get, Louis,” she said, bustling around the room. She selected his designated outfit from the wardrobe and hung it on his vanity.

Louis groaned into his pillow.

“Come on, Louis,” she insisted, opening the hangings of his four poster bed. 

A knock on the door sounded the arrival of his morning pot of tea.

“Thank you, dear,” he heard Lucy-Mae say before placing the tray on the circular table next to his window settee. “Now, really. Get up, Louis. You have a briefing at half past eight for the day’s events which, as I understand, are to be quite extensive. The Queen was personally involved in arranging them, you know.” She began plumping the pillows strewn across his bed, narrowing missing his head.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered with an enormous sigh. He slowly dragged himself to his feet, took a gulp of strong tea before stumbling over to his vanity to begin dressing.

“Have you heard the news about Granny, Lucy-Mae?”

“I highly doubt that I haven’t,” she said. “Nothing happens in Buckingham Palace without me knowing about it. You should have learned that by this stage.”

“I don’t know, Lucy-Mae,” he teased, buttoning his shirt. “This seemed quite confidential.”

“Oh, really?” she said, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. “By all means humour me then.”

“Granny’s abdicating,” Louis said, slipping on his suit jacket and peering around just in time to catch Lucy-Mae almost fall onto his bed with shock.

She quickly regained composure and stared at him. “Where did you hear that? You’re twenty years old, Louis. You really shouldn’t be spreading dangerous rumours. Who knows what the press could pick up?”

“It’s true,” he said simply, wandering into his ensuite to brush his teeth and splash cold water of his face. “She told me, Albert and Evie last night herself.”

Lucy-Mae looked – for the first time in her life, no doubt – lost for words.

When Louis wandered back from the bathroom, drying his face with a towel, she was standing in the same spot, hands firmly on her hips and lips pursed.

“Now, Louis, I know you think that this is rather a lot of fun but you need to be careful when it comes to letting slip things that really ought to be kept private. If you’re telling the truth that it’s just you, Albert and Evangeline who know then the Queen will have a very short list of suspects to pin this on if word gets out to the press. So remember to keep your mouth shut, alright?”

Louis folded his towel slowly just to revel in Lucy-Mae’s warning glare that he had been the subject of since before he could talk. “Yes, Lucy-Mae,” he sighed in feigned acquiescence. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good,” she huffed, taking the towel from his and re-folding it neatly. “And keep it that way.”

*

Their briefing was conducted in the Orientation Conference Room in the West Wing of Buckingham Palace, which was usually reserved for foreign leader visitors should they need somewhere private to wait before being given a brief tour of a select number of rooms.

Louis sat between Evangeline and Albert – they had had a fight that morning about who between them was more tired – and were resolutely refusing to speak to one another. Evangeline kept making periodic, ostentatious yawning noises, as though trying to prove her point. Albert glared.

“Thank you for arriving on time for your briefing,” Martina – a tiny, middle-aged woman who could manage anything from a royal garden party to the signing of an international treaty with exhaustingly infallible precision – said.

Martina, Miguel and Sylvie – Albert, Evangeline and Louis’ respective equerries – sat opposite them, a long, ornate desk between them.

Sylvie had only been Louis’ equerry for three months but so far had been Louis’ favourite. A tall, athletic woman with Senegalese twists, she always seemed to know exactly when to push Louis and when to leave him to fend for himself. She had also developed an excellent briefing system for whenever he met a new foreign leader or non-profit founder that he was supposed to know a biography-worth of information about in order to make conversation. Instead of the usual mountain of paperwork detailing their lives like his equerries in the past had provided him with, she gave him a brief double-sided paper detailing things like their Hogwarts house, whether they had pets, their political affiliation, whether or not they though pineapple on pizza was an acceptable topping – topics that Louis had genuine interest in so that he could engage in conversation with them. How Sylvie found this information out was beyond him but he appreciated it nevertheless.

“So what’s the big news?” Evangeline asked curiously.

“Well,” Martina began, “as the Queen informed you last night, her intention is to abdicate the throne in the next six months and before that time we’re launching a major campaign to boost your images as the competent, proactive royals we know you are.”

“Oh, you’re too kind, Martina,” Louis said, grinning at her.

She smiled despite herself. “The Queen should also have told you about her agreement with the Prince of Monaco, Harry Grimaldi, for the three of you to be publicised heavily together. Now, he arrived in London late last night and you will have events scheduled with him throughout today, then we’ll have a short period of respite for the public to absorb this development before launching full-steam ahead with the campaigning.”

Martina flicked through her file. “Now,” she read, “we’ve already informed the press so they’ll be expecting you at each of these locations, accompanied by Harry. This morning at half nine sharp, you’ll be visiting Great Ormond Street Hospital for a brief period to launch the opening of the new long-term children’s ward, complete with an indoor playground. At one, you will be going to the Royal Horticultural Society Chelsea Charity Show where lunch will be served, as I understand it. Then at half past three you will be playing cricket together – yes, Louis, I know you hate cricket,” she added at the disgusted look on Louis’ face. “Now, the press will be there but it’s not a formal event so do try to make the affair seem natural.” She glanced down at her paper. “Then you’ll be seen arriving together at Kensington Palace for dinner at seven on the dot. Received?”

“Received,” they mumbled. It certainly wasn’t that Louis was dreading the day ahead of him – the garden show in Chelsea was always magnificent at the very least, even if he couldn’t play cricket to save his life – it was that the public exposure and the orchestrated nature of the day always took a toll on his frame of mind. He could never truly let his guard down, even for a moment. A slight frown, or slouched posture, or a mere yawn could be entirely misconstrued and overshadow the entirety of the palace press team’s efforts. And then again, if he stood too rigidly, or played his role too well then he would be criticised for not acting naturally enough, for playing into the public’s hands – and would then have to endure a meeting featuring photos of himself smiling seven different ways so that a group of experts could point out which smiles were most favourable in the polls. It was exhausting.

The only bright spot – apart from the delicious canapés he had come to expect from the Chelsea garden parties over the years – was that Harry would be there. Inscrutable Harry who he had thought about more than he would care to admit over the last couple of days. He thought of the fact that the hospital was the first place to visit on their crammed agenda and bit his lip.

Louis remembered that three weeks after his mother’s death he had begun his usual royal duties again – cutting ribbons, shaking hands, signing cheques – and was brought to the same hospital where his mother had been only weeks beforehand. His equerry at the time was new and, despite the fact that his schedule was approved by about eight different people beforehand, nobody seemed to have made the connection. So when Louis was led out of the car, past the cameras and inside, it was only when he caught the eye of a nurse who had attended his mother the previous month and saw the sign to the oncology ward that he broke down. Stumbling – he vaguely remembered knocking something over because there was a loud crash – and sobbing into someone’s arms, rocking, aching through the pain as it shattered the thin shell he had thought he was building over those three weeks.

He just hoped that Harry had been warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this was updated later than promised - the next chapter will definitely be longer and there will be plenty of flirting too. I hope everyone is staying safe, healthy and practising self-care - B x


	6. six

“Martina will be overseeing the hospital visit this morning, so you’ll be in good hands,” Sylvie said. “Just make sure not to engage with any journalists until she arrives with Albert and Evangeline. And – oh, I have Wingfall in my ear, one second.” Sylvie pauses in her explanation, frowns and then mutters “Affirmative, Wingfall.”

“Wingfall,” Louis muttered, typing a list on his phone of the college work he would need to catch up on the following week. “That’s new, isn’t it?”

“The Monegasque royal rep in England,” Sylvie said. “He just told me that Harry will be arriving three minutes behind Albert and Evangeline’s car, alright?”

“Three minutes?” Louis said, raising his eyebrows. “Granny wouldn’t approve of us royals having to wait for a guest that we have the burden of hosting.”

“What the Queen doesn't know won’t kill her,” Sylvie said. She caught his eye and grinned sheepishly. “I didn’t say that.”

Louis laughed. He was beginning to like Sylvie more and more.

“Besides,” Sylvie said dropping her voice. “From what I’ve heard about this Harry, he likes to… bend the rules, if you will. Test boundaries, you know? At least that’s what I’ve heard from some of the press team who’ve been liaising with his crowd.”

Before his car had pulled up outside Great Ormond Street Hospital, Louis spotted the hoard of photographers and journalists vibrating with avidity. Taking a steadying breath, Louis straightened his tie, licked his lips and squared his shoulders.

“And three… two… one,” Sylvie warned from the front seat as his car rolled up directly in front of the main entrance.

Right on cue, Louis’ door was opened and he unfolded himself, plastering on a smile and nodding graciously at the doorman. The cameras glared, journalists began speaking over one another, desperate to catch his eye.

“Prince Louis! Is there any truth to the rumour that you’ve fallen out with your father? You haven’t been seen together in weeks!”

“Louis – Prince Louis! Are you planning on attending the Chelsea Flower Show?”

“Have you been in contact with the Prince of Monaco since the funeral, Prince Louis? Sources tell us you’re forming a friendship with him. Can you clarify that for us?”

Louis smiled blandly and made his way along the main entrance just as Evangeline and Albert’s cars rolled up consecutively and the attention was diverted for him for a brief moment. But he could still see frenzied journalists from behind the barriers, screens directed at him, catching his every movement.

Albert and Evangeline made their way over to him, mimicking his movement, maintaining their benevolent smiles. They stood together in a cordoned-off section where the photographers were designated precisely thirty seconds to take photographs as a small, anonymous girl – probably the daughter of a generous donor to the hospital – presented Evangeline with an elaborate bouquet, which Louis knew had been specifically chosen to match her outfit of the morning.

Thirty seconds passed before Martina stepped in and ushered them back to the entrance for an officially-scheduled interview with a Times reporter that Louis had spoken to before but for the life of him could not remember the name of.

It was tedious conversation then, praising the work of the children’s hospital, gracious smiles as the three of them were praised for their coordination of the new centre for learning and indoor playground for the long-term patients. Finally, the last car rolled up the hospital entrance and slowed to a halt. Louis tried not to look too eager as the photographers pounced and the shouts became more riotous and less composed – clearly the journalists had no problem hounding a royal from a _different_ monarchy.

Harry emerged from the car with a serene, if slightly reserved smile. He made his way confidently, flanked by two guards, towards Martina.

Louis saw that he was wearing a navy suit with a mustard tie with tiny flowers, which should have looked awful but Harry seemed so comfortable in his own skin that it wouldn’t have mattered what he was hearing.

“His Royal Majesty, Prince Albert,” Martina introduced.

Harry bowed his head before shaking Albert’s hand. “It’s a pleasure again, Albie.”

“And you, Harry,” Albert said, his usual earnest self.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess Evangeline,” Martina continued.

Evangeline held out her hand, which Harry bent down to kiss before smiling up at her. “Lovely to finally meet you, Evangeline. I regret that we haven’t met before which–“

“Is entirely your fault, you know,” Evangeline said, but there was a telling glint in her eye which told him she was joking. “I’ve caught your eye on a variety of appropriate occasions so you really have no excuse.”

Harry grinned indulgently. “I don’t. But I do still hope you might have the capacity to forgive me?”

“I might, but only for the fact that I’ve heard such raving comments about you from my dear cousin who–”

Louis elbowed her in the ribs, but there was no need as Martina swiftly interjected, sending a warning glance at Evangeline.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Louis,” she said.

Finally, after an entire a week of no contact but near-constant thinking about Harry, their eyes met. It was no exaggeration to say that the stares of the crowds, the shouts, the flashes of the camera – it all seemed to fade, as though everything interrupting that moment was reality falling away as he sank into a familiar dream. Louis noticed that his face wasn’t clear of the slight greyish tint and the light layer of makeup beneath his eyes couldn’t conceal the purplish hue there. But despite that, he looked less distraught, and certainly not entirely consumed by grief and pressure and confusion, as he was when they had met in Monaco for Harry’s father’s funeral.

“Harry,” Louis said, smiling and feeling rather more nervous than he would ever care to admit. He held out his hand for Harry to shake but, taking Louis by complete surprise, Harry bent down to press his lips gently against Louis’ knuckles.

The shouts and bustle that Louis had been able to drown out not ten seconds before seemed to increase tenfold. Even Evangeline’s usually impassive expression was replaced with one of surprise before Martina coughed and the three of them knew to mask their expressions as the cameras flashed around them.

“Alright, shall we proceed inside?” Martina said, more of an instruction than a suggestion.

Harry smiled at her, shot Louis a furtive wink and then followed Martina inside the hospital.

*

Inside the hospital itself, only the official royal photographer and the Times photographer were allowed. Louis, Harry, Albert and Evangeline were led by a flustered-looking nurse to the new children’s long-term ward, complete with the highest range facilities.

“…really so generous of you all, your Highnesses,” she said, almost tripping over her own feet in her haste to communicate her sincerest gratitude. “The children have been absolutely dying to take a look inside. They’ve been hearing all about the plans for over a year, some of them. and then they’ve seen the builders and construction workers come in an out of that section of the hospital for months. I’m afraid to say they’ll be more interested in trying out the playground than meeting the future King of England,” she added to Albert.

“I really can’t blame them,” Louis said. “Sorry, Al, but I’d pick the monkey bars over you any day of the week.”

The nurse laughed far too loudly, but Louis indulged her in a smile.

As they made their way through the corridors, doctors and nurses alike stopped to greet them and Louis made sure to greet every one of them with a smile. His job was exhausting and tedious most of the time, but what was an average day for him was one that the doctors and nurses would recount for a long time to come.

Harry had fallen into step beside Louis, their shoulders brushing every so often. Louis made a concerted effort not to smile giddily or read too much into anything when it came to Harry. The situation was entirely strange – Louis was usually unfazed, insouciant and enjoyed flirting most of the time. But with Harry he felt an inexplicable heat in his chest and an urge to break out of his façade completely.

“Here we are,” the nurse said, as they rounded a corner. There stood a group of about thirty children, many nurses and parents next to double doors with an elaborate silk ribbon tied in front. As soon as the children saw them, they began shouting and chanting. Their smiles were infectious and even despite the outrageous noise of their cheering, he couldn’t help but share a smile with Harry.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” Martina told them, indicating a short distance away where Harry’s personal guards and the royal guards stood.

Albert cut the ribbon and at least ten of the children barged past him and through the double doors. There was one boy of about eight in a wheelchair, his mother standing nervously behind him. Louis walked towards them, trying his best to seem approachable even if the startled expression on the woman told him that his effort was futile.

He smiled at the woman and then bent down to be at eye-level with the boy.

“Hello, there,” he said when the boy’s eyes lit up with recognition. “I’m Louis.”

“Louis! Mummy, it’s the prince!” the boy said frantically, as though afraid he might disappear any second.

“That’s right, Kevin,” she said in a strangled voice, mouthing “I’m sorry” at him.

He shook his head. “Would you mind if I brought you inside, Kevin?” he asked the boy. “When I was reviewing the plans for the new long-term ward, I saw that they had a special swing created especially for you and all of the other cool kids with wheels. What do you think?”

Kevin began nodding frantically.

“May I, Madam?” he asked the boy’s mother, who had been gripping the boy’s wheelchair.

“Oh! Yes, of course,” she said, giving him a brief explanation on how to operate the break.

He brought Kevin through the long-term ward, pointed out all the new facilities that he had been involved designing before helping him to attach his wheelchair to the handicap swing. As soon as it began to rock, Kevin’s face burst into a beatific smile.

“Mummy, look!” he shouted.

“I’m looking, sweetheart,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

And it was times like these that Louis truly appreciated his position – the small changes he could make, the foundations he could contribute to, the awareness for causes that he could raise. Bidding Kevin and his mother goodbye, he wandered through the rest of the long-term ward where children were running around with balloons in their hands, wearing face-paint and singing along to what was apparently the theme tune to a popular kids TV programme.

Louis found Harry, sitting cross-legged in a most undignified way to be seen in public, painting the face of a young girl.

“…but Han Solo has a gun, not a lightsabre so he’s not as strong and powerful,” the girl was insisting as Harry gently brushed the hair out of her eyes to paint across his forehead.

Louis approached them, already smiling despite himself.

“And then there’s Yoda and he’s all green and talks very funny. My big brother always pretends to be Yoda and he makes me laugh, even when my tummy’s sore,” she was saying.

Louis caught Harry’s eye, grinned, and took a seat beside him. He saw then that Harry was painting the girl to be R2-D2.

"That's good, right?" Louis said kindly. "Having a sore tummy is the worst, but at least you have a great brother and lots of nice nurses to look after you."

She nodded. "And I get a juicebox after I take my medicine even though my daddy says they're full of sugar. And now we have a playground too!" 

Louis smiled at her.

"Who was I on, Harry?" she asked as Harry frowned over the paint selection. 

"Er– you told me that you're favourite is _Return of the Jedi_ even though I still think the best film has to be _The Empire Strikes Back_–"

She shook her head sadly, as though he was terribly misguided.

"And then you started explaining your favourite characters," he continued, swirling his paintbrush in the water. "So you've told me all about Luke, Darth Vader, Obi Wan and the ewoks."

“And then there’s Leia. She’s the bestest character of them all. And she’s a princess, just like you, Harry!”

Louis had to bite his lip to prevent himself from grinning. 

“Aizzah,” Harry said to the small girl, glancing behind him, “did you know that I'm not the only prince here? Or princess, according to you. This is my friend Louis. He’s a prince too. But an even better one.”

The girl scrutinised Louis for a moment, arms crossed. “You look like a better Prince,” she said decisively after a moment.

Harry made a noise of mock indignation. Louis snorted.

“Because,” she continued, “my daddy says that the only job the princes and princesses have to be seen doing things and I know I’ve seen your face before because you were on the telly before so you must be doing your job right like a good Prince!” she finished theatrically.

Louis had to stifle a laugh. “Hm,” he said. “Looks like Harry has some work to do in order to boost his image then, right, Aizzah?”

She nodded vehemently, as though this was the most logical conclusion in the world.

“Quick photo, then, Prince Louis?” the royal photographer asked.

“One second, please,” Harry said, screwing up his face in concentration in a way that Louis should not have found as endearing as he did. Harry painted the finishing touches to Aizzah’s admittedly passable R2-D2.

“Tah-dah!” he sang. And before the royal photographer could ask for a profile of just Louis, or a photograph of Louis shaking hands with the head doctor of the ward, Harry got to his feet, smoothed the lines of his suit and situated Aizzah between him and Louis, one hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, that’s rather good,” the photographer said. “Smile now, darling.”

“Beep – bop – bee – bo – bo,” she said and then grinned. “RD-D2 doesn’t smile,” she whispered loudly.

The photographer sighed and mumbled something that sounded awfully like “_Kids_.”

Harry caught Louis’ eye and then shifted slightly closer until their shoulders were brushing again. Louis felt himself blush against his will and resolutely avoided Harry’s gaze, which was completely unabashed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! So sorry for the short update again - I keep underestimating how long it takes me to write but I'll try to set more time for myself tomorrow because I have some ideas in mind! I hope you're all safe and well - B x


End file.
